


lead & follow

by toromeo (ald0us)



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: (for tag filtering), Clary is a dom, D/s, Jace is doing his best, Jonathan is living his weird dreams, Misuse of demonic bonding runes, Multi, Pegging, Shameless PWP, Sibling Incest, Spitroasting, This is every bit as bad as it sounds tbh and possibly worse, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 05:15:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18359342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ald0us/pseuds/toromeo
Summary: No one at the Institute knows what to do with Jonathan after his capture in Paris. Fortunately, Clary and Jace have a few ideas.





	lead & follow

**Author's Note:**

> Jonathan fails to escape in Paris, but his presence in the Institute disrupts Clary and Jace’s plans for reunion sex. Clace put their incredible problem-solving skills to use, with the usual disastrous results. This really is not a serious fic. Set after 3x12.
> 
> (Dubcon warning bc there’s not what I could confidently call "explicit enthusiastic verbal consent" on Jonathan’s part but at the same time we ALL know this is the content of all his dreams don’t @ me)
> 
> Happy Birthday, Jonathan!

A fire crackled and popped in Jace’s fireplace, filling the normally bone-chilling room with a welcoming heat. Clary settled down in her favorite armchair, the one she’d accidentally ripped open with one open with one of her kindjals (sitting down in them had been a _steep_ learning curve). She felt much better out of those torturous heels and in her own clothes, back in the Institute, Jace’s presence like a stabilizing weight at her side.

Jace pushed Jonathan through the door, not entirely gently, and shut the door behind him. It could have been her imagination, but she swore she could feel the heat of his palm from its grip on Jonathan’s shoulder. His gaze darted quickly towards her and away, out of the corner of his eyes, as if wondering if they’d gone mad. Clary was partially wondering the same thing.  
  
As if he’d rehearsed his role a thousand times, Jace sidled up behind him, gripping both of Jonathan’s forearms and pulling him in close. Jonathan refused to turn his head, mouth still set into a thin line. Jace leaned in close and Clary could almost feel his breath hot on the shell of her ear. His voice was low and silky smooth when he said, “Now, are you ready to behave yourself for us?”  
  
Jonathan’s chin tilted upwards and his jaw set, but he couldn’t hide how the long, pale column of his throat worked imperceptibly as he swallowed. With another fleeting glance Clary’s way, he gave a taut, jerky nod. Jace’s eyes met hers, full of a dark kind of amusement. He slipped one hand off Jonathan’s arm to his waist, pushing the material over Jonathan’s skin, sliding his fingers towards Jonathan’s navel. Jonathan squirmed in his grip but didn’t move to pull away, the tip of his tongue darting over his lips. “Use your words. Are you ready to behave?”  
  
Now Jonathan did turn to shoot Jace a filthy look out of the corner of his eyes. His voice was full of sulking when he said, “ _Yes_.”  
  
Satisfied, Jace reached up and undid the knotted cloth they’d to tie Jonathan's arms to smuggle him up from the cell block to the bell tower. Jonathan gave them both a beleaguered glare, pulling at the paracord around his wrists that held them in place behind his back. It was a bit tighter than necessary, and the sensation was perversely pleasant around Clary’s wrists.  
  
“Not yet,” said Jace, into Jonathan’s ear. His voice reverberated in Clary’s chest, down her spine and pooling between her legs. “Later. If you’re good.”  
  
Before Jonathan could open his mouth to say something rude, Jace’s arms curled around him, pulling up the hem of his t-shirt. He was still wearing what he’d worn in Paris, a heathered gray shirt that reminded her of Jace and those wine-colored jeans which certainly did not remind her of Jace, though he’d lost the coat in his arrest and thankfully the scarf. Warmth seeped into her stomach as Jace teased Jonathan’s shirt over his abdomen, occasionally stealing a playful glance her way. There was a tense set to Jonathan’s stomach that made his muscles all the more obvious, the firelight playing over his skin and making his runes stand out like coal—beautifully drawn, like Jace’s.  By the time Jace had the shirt up enough to expose Jonathan was breathing a bit hard, dark eyes fixed on Jace’s hands, lips parted. Jace thumbed over one of his nipples and Jonathan sucked in a quick, surprised breath.  
  
“Pick a word,” Jace instructed in a silky whisper. “If you need to use, it I’ll stop. If you can’t speak, hold up three fingers. Understand?”  
  
Jonathan’s lips pressed into a white line, a muscle jumping in his jaw. His dark gaze turned up Jace’s way, mutinous. “How about _falcon_?”  
  
Jace’s expression flickered and Clary could have sworn she imagined the hitch in his breath. Wordlessly, he shifted to face Clary, hauling Jonathan so that his mostly naked torso was displayed her way. To Jonathan, he said, “This is what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it?” His voice had taken on the slightest hint of a growl, one hand gripping Jonathan’s waist. He’d pulled Jonathan back against his chest in something very near a chokehold, forearm pinned over Jonathan’s bare chest so that Jonathan’s narrow hips were pushed out, slender waist arched. His hipbones jutted out forming a pleasant, exaggerated _V_ ; Clary felt the familiar itch and pull of her sketchbook, to capture the twisted line of Jonathan’s spine.  
  
“Your own sister, huh?” Jace continued, right against Jonathan’s ear. Jonathan squirmed under Jace’s touch as he traced his fingers over Jonathan’s chest down to his hips. “That’s pretty fucked up, man, even for you. What was the plan? Go on a little sightseeing road trip in mommy’s apartment, take her to dinner, give her flowers? Assuming you don’t have that little, uh, flower problem anymore. Then what, you expect her to just...magically forget and leap into your arms?”  
  
“Fuck you,” said Jonathan, lazily, though his voice sounded a bit unsteady and his eyes were sharp. His tongue darted over his lips again. “As if you didn’t mope around in sad mix of angst and lust when Father told you that you were siblings.” His lips twisted into a cruel smile and he imitated a sarcastic, exaggeratedly whiny version of Jace’s voice. “Oh no, I’m a _monster_ and I’m hot for my sister—may the Angel strike me down! Oh whoops, there went the Downworld.”  
  
Clary schooled her face carefully into something that wasn’t laughter and, by the brief narrowing of Jace’s eyes, failed. His fingers dug into Jonathan’s waist, hard enough she could feel it in her side, and she aimed for contrition instead.  
  
“At least I’m not _actually_ her brother,” Jace replied lightly, locking eyes with her, his voice rather smug. “Funny how everything that goes wrong in your life goes right in mine.”  
  
Jonathan’s lips pulled back into a snarl, revealing a flash of teeth; he jerked in Jace’s grip, fruitlessly. Clary cleared her throat pointedly and gave Jace a warning look—Jonathan’s pupils were encroaching dangerously on the whites of his eyes. Once she had both of their attention—Jace looking bashful and Jonathan looking somewhere between mutinous and extremely hopeful—she said, “Play nice, you two. You can argue about who’s daddy’s favorite later.”  
  
Jonathan looked inordinately smug for someone who had just been chastised and didn’t resist when Jace pulled his shirt up and over his head, tugging it down his shoulders so it hung around his bound wrists. Lilith’s rune stood out red and angry on his skin—she could see the ghosts of a few of the bruising kisses Jace had given her yesterday evening on his neck and collarbones. He seemed to notice her looking and his lips twisted upwards, eyes locked with her own. The smugness swiftly turned to open-mouthed surprise as Jace rolled his hips against him, grabbing his ass. Clary watched, satisfied, as Jace fumbled one-handedly with his belt, unzipping his jeans. Jonathan was no longer meeting her eyes—couldn’t—as Jace decided to draw out the torture some more, rubbing long lines over the centerline of Jonathan’s abs down to his open fly. Jonathan squirmed some more, a flush creeping over his exaggerated cheekbones, his breathing quick and shallow. Another roll of Jace’s hips and Clary could have sworn Jonathan made a strangled sound.  
  
“Come on,” Jace said, and his voice was beginning to sound a little tight. “Make some noise for her. Pretty boy like you should moan a little for his only sister.”  
  
(Clary was beginning to wonder if Jace had more of a thing for the whole _sister_ thing than Jonathan did.)  
  
Jonathan’s nostrils flared but his eyes flitted to Clary for a second before Jace snapped the waistband of his black boxer briefs against his hip and he made a short _aah!_ of surprise. Jace smiled, his chin scraping the sensitive skin of Jonathan’s neck; Clary could swear she felt it. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He pressed his palm into Jonathan’s not-insubstantial erection, making Jonathan bite his lip so hard Clary tasted salt, his eyes trained very intently on Jace’s hand. He was breathing hard now, his narrow chest rising and falling swiftly, and Clary admired his nipples, tiny and pink. Jace pulled his hand back to Jonathan’s hip and hauled him to the foot of the bed, pushing Jonathan so that with his hands bound he stumbled and caught himself on his knees on the padded storage bench where Jace kept his favorite books.  
  
“Get up,” said Jace.  
  
Jonathan gave Jace a sardonic glare that suggested he was an absolute moron. “Untie me, then.”  
  
“Not until you behave.” Jace was _definitely_ enjoying this part. Clary, for her part, was savoring every minute.  “Come on, crawl for us.” He sidled in closer and trailed a hand over Jonathan’s back, making both him and Clary shudder. Jonathan’s jaw clenched but he obediently swung one leg up onto the mattress, leaning over onto Jace’s black covers to awkwardly crawl his way onto the bed, throwing a look Jace’s way once he’d made it. His legs were askew on the mattress, and he looked uncharacteristically small and cowed half-naked against the black sheets.  
  
“On your back,” said Jace, unmoved.  
  
Jonathan’s hesitation was momentary but obvious. He looked to Clary, something unsure and insecure in his eyes, then swallowed and rolled over, lowering himself onto his back. He fell just a bit short of the headboard, head propped up just a little by Jace’s pillows. The position looked rather painful with his arms twisted under him, but by his expression that was the furthest thing from his mind. Anticipation buzzed between them, mounting in her stomach. Clary watched the fire throw flickering shades of yellow glow over Jonathan’s pale skin, shaded with pools of purple shadows. For one deceptive moment he looked innocent and contrite, chin pushed down to his chest and sharp shoulders curled inwards.  
  
Jace grabbed one of his ankles and pulled off his boot—he’d lost the other one in the struggle in Paris or the valiant effort to get him into his cell. He’d fought like a wildebeest, thrashing about and snarling like he was possessed. It had taken the combined effort of a lot of Alec’s people to strap him into an interrogation chair, and even then Underhill had sustained a nasty bite wound and Jonathan had dislocated his shoulder (which _hurt_ , the bastard). He also screamed himself raw long after they’d all left the cell block, until Clary could barely speak. A far cry from the relatively docile creature lying on the bed, who was watching Jace peel off his jeans with black eyes.  
  
None had ever accused Clary and Jace of not playing with fire.  
  
Jace climbed onto the mattress after him, pushing Jonathan’s knees apart. Sitting back against his haunches, he pulled his shirt off with a flourish—now _that_ was a sight for sore eyes. Clary drank in the familiar curve of his back, the thickness of his shoulders, the power in his arms and core. Jonathan’s whipcord muscles held the same unnatural strength, she knew, contained in a deceptively slender body. Still, there was something perfectly familiar about Jace that arrested her, the curve of his lower back like a particular beautiful part of one her mother’s paintings she’d passed by so many times she never truly saw it, until it was too late.  
  
Jace lowered himself carefully over Jonathan’s body, pressing soft kisses to Jonathan’s chest, dragging a hand down Jonathan’s thigh for Clary’s benefit. Jonathan’s breaths were coming in quick and erratic, his head thrown back; she could see him gritting his teeth to keep from making noise but Jace was nothing if not a master, stirring his hips between Jonathan’s legs in a slow motion that drew a cry from him like blood from a stone. Clary’s breath was picking up, too—a tingling sensation was growing between her legs and a heat had risen in her breasts that probably had something to do with the way Jace’s tongue was dragging languidly over Jonathan’s nipples. Hastily she wriggled out of her leggings, pressing two fingers over her clit in a practiced motion, the pressure just right. To her surprise Jonathan groaned and curled his legs around Jace’s sides, as if in response. She plunged her free hand clumsily into her bra through her shirt, pinching the tingling nipple, and Jonathan’s back arched under Jace’s weight with an appreciative moan.  
  
Clary was _definitely_ wet now if she hadn’t been already. Jace’s teeth were grazing Jonathan’s lips, and through the pinpricks in her own she longed to dig her nails into his back, sit on top of him and suck on his tongue. Jonathan was barely holding it together, Jace managing to pull the occasional groan out of him, their intermingled panting enough to make a perfect rhythm for Clary’s strokes. As if sensing or hearing her Jace dragged a hand up Jonathan’s thigh, exploring the space between their bodies, sending a trail of sparks up Clary’s leg that pooled between her legs. An electric thrill of pleasure surged through her as Jace’s hand pressed into Jonathan’s cock and Clary gasped at the sudden, perfect release, Jonathan’s gasps mingling with her own.  
  
Jace pulled off him, sitting back on his knees and giving her a look that was nearly as sweet as the orgasm. “You weren’t kidding about all this bond stuff.” To Jonathan, he said, “Normally I’d make fun of you for premature ejaculation but in this case I think you can be excused.”  
  
Jonathan glowered. “I didn’t come, _she_ did.”  
  
“Uh huh,” said Jace. He patted Jonathan’s knee, deliberately insouciant. “Don’t worry, baby, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”  
  
Once she’d caught her breath she interrupted Jonathan’s no-doubt unfortunate rejoinder and said, “Untie him.” To Jace’s unbelieving look she added, “He’s earned it, don’t you think?”  
  
There was a moment of hesitation in Jace’s mismatched eyes before he complied, fetching a stele from his bedside table, twirling it in his fingers. He hauled Jonathan bodily upright, making Jonathan hiss and complain, sitting him down so that Jonathan’s legs straddled his thighs. Jace reached around Jonathan’s shoulders and sketched out a quick _opening_ rune onto the cords binding his wrists. For a moment Clary tensed, expecting him to do anything, ready to grab the nearest weapon—a dagger, on the fireside table—and defend Jace, but Jonathan sat still, motionless and unreadable. Then he lifted a hand and Jace’s was at his throat in an instant, not crushing but firm enough to give Clary a pleasureable buzz.  
  
Jonathan’s lips curled upwards, his eyes still unreadable, his dark gaze on Jace entirely. Something like anxiety buzzed in her as she tried to read him for intent. His hand hovered in the air, like a white bird caught mid-flight. His fingers were thin and delicate, his knuckles still elegant and without the abuse of a lifetime of fighting, bones unbroken. Then his hand went back down to his side, the threat abated. Clary did her best not to think about how hot (and deeply satisfying) choking Jonathan would be, how the muscles in his throat would feel in her hands. He didn’t look uncomfortable with Jace’s hand around his neck—if anything, he looked a bit pleased, though Clary didn’t trust her ability to read him.  
  
“Fine,” said Jace. The darkness had returned, the roughness in his voice. He relinquished his grip on Jonathan’s throat, his gaze evaluating. “If you didn’t, then you’ll have no problem being a good boy and getting on all fours for us so _I_ can come in _you_.”  
  
Jonathan’s eyes narrowed and his gaze flicked momentarily to Clary; she held his gaze. Slowly, stiffly, but without a word he climbed off Jace’s lap with all the scraps of dignity available to him. Jace let go and tossed the stele to Clary, who caught it. He gave her a glimmer of a wink, then re-arranged himself so he was kneeling behind Jonathan. “Down, demon boy.”  
  
Jonathan looked somewhere between angry and horny but lowered himself uncertainly down onto his elbows, glancing back at Jace. His spine was taut, a rigid set to his shoulders—a predator unused to being prey.  Jace gave his flank a comforting if patronizing rub, pushing Jonathan’s legs further apart. “You know, I liked the old ass better. Like I know it was stolen, but this one’s kind of flat.” He pulled Jonathan’s boxer briefs down his thighs, giving his ass a little squeeze. “Everyone knows how ‘Sebastian’ burned through the Institute personnel—even Raj, which means you must have been really desperate. You know what they say, right? Ride it like you stole it.”  
  
Jonathan’s cheeks were flushed a hot cherry red, as if he were intoxicated, his teeth grit. Clary had to admit Jace was probably overdoing it. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re intolerably obnoxious?”  
  
Jace grinned a _you know you love me_ grin her way. His saving grace was that it was also the grin he gave her as he ate her out—one she knew very well. She wasn’t nearly as resistant as she liked to think. “Yeah. Your mom, actually.”  
  
Only Jace could joke about being possessed by a greater demon not a week afterwards, Clary thought. Then again, she’d also scored a few too many jokes off her own death in the past few hours. Shadowhunters were endlessly entertained and scandalized by millennial gallows humor.  
  
Jace reached back into the bedside table and fished out a bottle of lube, still babbling. “Your _other_ mom tried to kill me with a crossbow, so that’s still fresh.” He popped the cap, smearing some of the viscous substance onto his fingers. (It was rather fancy and had been a birthday present to Clary from Maia, who had, looking Jace directly in the eyes, said, “Use it up on him, okay?” It had been an interesting evening for all three of them. Clary found out from personal experience that Jace hadn’t been lying about the butterfly tattoo. It was, as it turned out, a very nice tattoo.)  
  
Just as Clary was looking about for something non-lethal to throw at Jace to make him _stop talking_ , she felt a bright flare of sensation and Jonathan hissed, lips pulling back over his teeth into a grimace. Jace glanced her way, as if to confirm, and she gave him a look that could not be interpreted as chaste. He wasn’t taking the same pains to be gentle that he would with Clary, and if it the beautiful flush that had worked up over Jonathan’s cheekbones and torso was any indication, Jace had estimated his audience well. Clary could certainly say the full, electric sensation flaring through her was much more pleasurable than painful; dimly she wondered if Jonathan’s heightened pain tolerance dulled the transmission.  
  
Curious, she brought a hand down to the still-sensitive skin of her inner thigh, trailing the tips of her fingers over it in the way she liked. Jonathan’s responding gasp was immediate, though he pressed his lips together as if trying to swallow the sound. Reading the response Jace pushed in a third finger, drawing a strangled cry from both of them—the pressure was too much and perfect at the same time. Clary could swear the strain and occasional crook of Jace’s fingers was stimulating her G-spot as well, making her wet. Again.  
  
“She likes it when you make noise for her, you know,” Jace said, lowly, against Jonathan’s ear. He’d pulled out his fingers and Clary wanted to complain with how much she missed the pressure. “I know you want to please us—you’re desperate for it. So let me spell it out for you. Clary wants to watch as I take you apart and fuck you senseless. I give Clary what she wants. So if you don’t make some noise for us, _sweetheart_ , I’m going to start making you.”  
  
Jonathan opened his mouth as if to snap back a reply before Jace read Clary’s mind and raised his free hand and brought his open palm down hard on Jonathan’s ass with a sharp _smack_. A choked, indignant noise tore its way from Jonathan’s mouth and a hot spark of pain leapt in her in sympathy. “ _What_ _the—?!_ “  
  
He was cut off by another smack, on the same spot—more painful this time. A whine escaped Jonathan’s mouth before he pressed his lips together, dark eyes wide and furious. Though it hurt, it wasn’t as unexpected for her as it was for him, and the spark of discomfort made hot sensation pool around her clit. Clary could imagine how Jonathan’s pale skin had turned red and angry, a similar mark on her own flank. “Again?” Jace asked, his voice smooth as the black silk of his sheets. He’d taken to tracing his hand up the _V_ of Jonathan’s hips, making Jonathan’s eyes fall closed and lips just visibly part in stubbornly mute appreciation. “I can spank you until you beg me to fuck you. I can imagine it. Big, scary demon boy mewling for my cock.”  
  
Jonathan made a sound from his throat that sounded like a growl, his narrow nostrils flaring. All his muscles were tensed, the stinging in the backs of his thighs burning between them. It brought more heat pooling between Clary’s legs to imagine that stubborn pride brought to ruins. “I don’t beg.”  
  
Jace raised his eyebrows, scraping his lips and stubble over the back of Jonathan’s neck, making them both shudder. “Famous last words.”  
  
Clary shifted in the armchair, pushing down on a growing impatience. One of Jace’s hands brushed the one of Jonathan’s extremely sensitive sides and she squirmed; it tickled. He noticed her jump and stroked it more, eyes locked on Jonathan’s face. His face was a rigid mask, his hands balled up into fists until he broke, squirming under Jace’s touch. It occurred to her that he may not have been tickled before. “Cute,” said Jace, as if reading her mind. He bucked his hips against Jonathan’s ass, making him scowl and press his forehead into Jace’s comforter, as if hiding his face. “Ticklish, aren’t you? I bet you’re a real screamer.”  
  
“Fuck you,” said Jonathan, but it was muffled. Out of patience, Clary pushed herself out of the chair and stood, reveling in the feeling of her shirt brushing over the sensitive skin of her legs. Jonathan looked up, and her stomach tightened at the sight of his dark, hazy eyes following her. By the time she’d rounded the bed, she had both their attention.  
  
“Keep going,” she told Jace, keeping her gaze on Jonathan, then reached out to touch his thin, pink lips. He made a soft sound, eyes flicking upward with rapt attention. Their gazes brushed and Clary felt an electric jolt as his lips parted and mouthed over the tips of her fingers. Greedily, she pushed her fingers inside, pressing down on his tongue. He sucked obediently, as if he knew his role and had rehearsed a thousand times. The acquiescence fostered a familiar buzz of control  and she grabbed a fistful of his close-cropped hair as Jace pushed into him— _them_ —and they gasped together, the sound from Jonathan's mouth vibrating against Clary’s fingertips. Jonathan’s mouth fell open as Jace eased in, careful, and Clary leaned into the mattress, not bothering to stifle a gasp of her own.  
  
Clumsily, she climbed onto the book bench, standing on her knees so that Jonathan’s nose bumped against her hipbone. Jace _moved_ and Jonathan made a tortured sound against her skin, open mouth wet against her shirt. With her free hand Clary ran two fingers down the back of his neck, over his _equilibrium_ rune and each knob of his spine, the raised bumps of his prominent ribs, tracing the ridged peaks of his shoulderblades, shivering at the ghost of her own touch. Jace grabbed his hips and pushed in earnest, making Clary gasp. From the caricature of shocked surprise on Jonathan’s face, her experience with this position was a lot more _broad_ than his. He opened his mouth as if to speak but nothing came out but a breathless, incoherent whine.  
  
“Good,” Clary murmured, guiding Jonathan’s head and his perfect mouth downwards. He responded with enthusiasm, the wet heat of his tongue finding her folds with adorable eagerness. If the scratch of her unshaven hair bothered him at all, he didn’t show it, his groans resonating in her clit. He was rather clumsy and Clary had to stifle a laugh imagining how he must kiss, but Jace’s steady, perfect pace combined with the desperate heat of Jonathan’s tongue was working her towards the edge faster than she’d thought possible.  
  
She let out a louder and more desperate groan as she spilled, gripping her fistful of Jonathan’s hair tight. He made a strange, tortured sound, his deprivation making the peaked crests of pleasure washing over her even higher. Reaching between her legs, she took some of her juices on her fingertips and pressed them to Jonathan’s lips, letting him taste her. Dark eyes slipped closed as his lips closed around her fingers, sucking— _good boy_ , a stray thought provided. His light lashes fluttered at every one of Jace’s thrusts—Jace himself was getting close, his breathing harsh and labored—  
  
Jace made a sound that could have been fuck as he came, pressing his torso heavily over Jonathan’s sweat-slicked back. Clary felt the strain in Jonathan’s shoulders holding his weight up as the vague teasing of his sweet spot ended and the burn set in; fumbling for her stele, she activated her _iratze_. Jonathan sighed and the sparks of pain faded. With a filthy sound Jace pulled out, flopping back onto the bed with a blissed-out, sleepy expression, eyes closed. Jonathan gave him a filthy look; for his part he looked well on his way to wrecked, something hazy in his deep-set eyes, lips wet and parted. When she touched his back she could feel his muscles starting to shake from the strain; he made a helpless sound when she brushed her fingers to his lips, chasing her touch. _Needy_.  
  
Clary clambered onto the bed, swatting at Jace’s thigh. He made a vaguely offended noise, one eye cracking open. “What? I’m not cuddling with him, he punctured my fucking lung.”  
  
“You did sort of kill him,” Clary replied, apologetically. To the face he pulled, she added, “Come on. One more round.” Resorting to another tack, she leaned in for a soft, teasing kiss, letting her loose hair tickle his chest. In more honeyed tones, she wheedled, “I’m only asking you fuck his mouth.”  
  
Jace could be very principled when he felt like it, but the promise of an angry blowjob from Jonathan clearly ranked higher on his hierarchy of needs than moral fiber. Both eyes were definitely open, and alert, something like a smile teasing his lips upwards. With a dramatic groan he raised a hand from the mattress. “Fine.”  
  
Clary pressed a long, grateful kiss to his cheek, then traced over his _stamina_ rune with her stele. Jace gave another dramatic groan. She kissed him again, on the lips, and he chased it, his eagerness familiar. “Thank you.”  
  
Jace’s responding gaze was intense and full of adoration. Effortlessly he pulled himself upright, slipping off the bed to round to where Jonathan was glaring at him. “Any time. Even if you're being greedy.”  
  
Clary grinned. _Greedy_ was right. Ignoring the fatigue and lazy satisfaction buzzing in her limbs, she leaned over the bed’s edge and pulled open the bedside drawer furthest from the door, lifting the heavy harness. The metal fastenings clinked against each other as she secured it over her hips and around her thighs with a nimble familiarity borne of practice. Jace watched, a lazy, easy smile playing on in his eyes, as if Jonathan wasn’t glaring at him like he might eviscerate Jace with his gaze. She reached for a last piece in the drawer, dangling it in Jonathan’s field of view. He looked at her over his shoulder, an unspoken sulkiness in his eyes pulling his mouth down into a pout. “Don’t give me that look,” she said, chiding with an edge of something more. A command. “Neither of us are getting you off if you can’t behave.” She touched his lips, teasing them apart, and he yielded with a soft sigh. “I can’t trust you not to bite.”  
  
“Wow,” said Jace. Now that his main role in the scene was over, he didn't seem to have any problems reverting back to his normal degree of sarcasm. “That makes me feel great.”  
  
Clary gave him a look, hooking the metal ring behind Jonathan’s teeth and wrapping the leather back behind his head, fastening it. He’d shied away a little at first but eventually stilled enough for her to do it, if not patient then obedient. She tightened it enough that Jonathan made a sound, then leaned back on her heels, pulling off her shirt. She was wearing one of her and Jace’s favorite black bras, which he admired along with the rest of her, appreciative. His gaze was warm and familiar as she reached for the bottle of lube, squeezing out a healthy portion and smearing it down her shaft—one that Jace had bought her for his birthday. It had been well-acquainted with Maia’s fancy lube.  
  
Firmly she pushed Jonathan’s knees further apart, her arousal mounting higher at the sight of Jace’s come shining on Jonathan’s thighs. He seemed to flinch in anxious, desperate excitement at her touch, pressing back against her thighs. She took his narrow hips and eased the tip into him, gauging him by her own discomfort. Jonathan groaned, a  deep, needy, helpless sound, his hips jerking back clumsily. He was already loose and slick with left-over lube and Jace’s come, and for a wild moment she considered ordering him to fuck himself on her, but decided against it. They’d used him enough he deserved to be taken care of.  
  
Angling her hips down, Clary pressed into him carefully, unable to stifle a gasp at the pressure. She was already sensitive and throbbing from the previous orgasms—the temptation to set the pace for her own gratification would be substantial. Jonathan made another hitched, involuntary sound, as if the noises were being pulled from him by force and Clary’s focus was back on him, slow enough to tease but enough to give him what he needed. He groaned, grateful, and whined out a soft, embarrassed _Clary_ that made her heart pound. Her touch on his sweat-slicked skin was soft, lighting up her senses, completely masturbatory; she reached up to tease her own chest, drawing a helpless sound to mingle with her own indulgent moan.  
  
Jace, notwithstanding his protestations, was already hard—probably from whatever kind of bizarre show she and Jonathan were giving him. He palmed himself easily and Jonathan lowered his head to take him without complaint. Despite his bravado, Jace was careful, not pushing in all the way too quickly. Considering neither of them knew how well Jonathan could take it, or if he could at all, it was probably wise—or rather, relatively wise. Clary knew no part of this particular activity could possibly be construed as _wise_. The thought was conveniently blasted away as the back of Clary’s throat recoiled and acid reared; Jonathan jerked back, as if burnt. She gave a comforting rub to his thigh, keeping the slow, easy pace.  
  
“Breathe through your nose,” Jace advised, sounding just a shade of amused, though he’d dropped some of the more overt antagonism. “And relax, for Raziel’s sake. You’re sucking cock, not fighting. Have fun, or whatever.”  
  
Somehow Clary doubted _don’t fight, have fun_ was a commonly used phrase in Jonathan’s vocabulary. Before she could suggest he take it easy and save deepthroating lessons for another day, he made another valiant effort. They both endured a few sharp tugs of nausea and some awful, harsh noises before he managed to fight his way to the base of Jace’s cock, the ugly sounds replaced by filthy, wet snuffling sounds. Jace raised his eyebrows and made significant eye contact, as if to say, _Impressive_. It could have also been _Your brother is a slut_. Clary couldn’t be sure.  
  
Tentatively, Clary abbreviated the push of her hips, picking up the pace. Jonathan made a helpless sound of appreciation, bucking back against her as Jace took the cue and began to move in a steady, slow _in_ and _out_. Jace’s cock made filthy noises in Jonathan’s throat and Clary could feel herself becoming pleasurably light-headed as Jonathan forgot to breathe. She picked up the pace again, emboldened, the oxygen starvation and the exertion burn in her thighs making the self-imposed discomfort shockingly gratifying. She wanted to _fuck_ him, hard, make him whine and cry and fall apart for her, make him scream as he came. As if in response Jonathan gave another helpless moan around Jace, making Jace bite his lip and swear. Clary couldn’t help but grab a handful of Jonathan’s hair, drawing a choked cry. Jonathan’s hands were fisted in Jace’s bedsheets, so tightly his knuckles were white; and his muscles trembled with heat and desperate exertion under her touch.  
  
He was close, but she kept fucking him, ruthless, only teasing his prostate. She shared in the torture—she was perilously close but clamped down with iron will and forced herself to keep going, to make the inevitable even better, to take him apart more fully. She’d drawn on the strange, hidden wellspring of strength between them and there was something perversely satisfying about fucking Jonathan with his own unnatural strength. His skin was sweaty and burning hot; she imagined their shared blood as a convection current, bringing tides of sensation and touch and taste her way, as if she was the one running her tongue on the underside of Jace’s cock, teasing him in just the way he liked best—  
  
Jace came with a deep, heartfelt groan, pulling out after Jonathan nearly choked. He fell forward onto his elbows, powerful shoulders drooping with exhaustion. Clary thought wryly of the joys of consecutive orgasms and tried not to cough along with Jonathan.  
  
“Clary,” Jonathan gasped, and fuck, that was exactly what she needed, that wavering combination of helplessness and desperation that sent a wave of uncontrollable, shuddering pleasure up her spine. “Clary, Clary _please_ —“  
  
They came as one, panting out otherwise silent bliss, like a supernova gone off behind Clary’s eyes. For a moment she thought she saw white, gasping for breath as dizzying oxygen rushed back into their lungs, pushing a tidal wave of pleasure through her limbs. In the daze of orgasm they collapsed into each other, Jonathan melted boneless beneath her, utterly defeated. Dimly she could feel Jace’s touch, kissing her through it, Jonathan’s shuddering breaths intertwined between them.  
  
Reality filtered back slowly. First, the chill of the air on her sweaty skin, the uncomfortable sticking of her hair to her skin, the press of her harness. Jace had unbuckled it for her; she pulled out with a filthy sound and wriggled free, drawing the merest whines of protest from Jonathan, though he did not do more than stir weakly. He was sandwiched between them, giving off heat like a furnace, utterly wrecked. His eyes were closed and his arms pulled close to his chest as if in sleep; even in rest, he did not look even faintly angelic. Clary curled up around him and pressed her chest to his back, and drawing Jace in so that Jonathan’s forehead rested on Jace’s chest. As if on instinct, Jace put his arm over Jonathan’s waist, touching hers. She looked up at Jace and grinned, mischievous. “Thought you weren’t cuddling with him.”  
  
Jace’s eyes narrowed in challenge. “I’m not— _we’re_ cuddling. He’s just...here.”  
  
“Uh huh.” Clary reached over and fumbled at Jonathan’s gag, pulling the straps off and pulling the metal ring free, dropping it beside them. Jonathan made a weak sound and did not resist when she stroked the dip of his waist, appreciatively. His nagging pain and exhaustion tugged at her but she pushed it away, seeping her own post-coital warmth into him as she traced over the fine-shaven hair at the back of his neck with a fingertip. The firelight was dying to embers, washing his sharp features in a sunset highlight. She hooked her arm over and around his narrow waist, drawing Jace in closer. “Admit it. That was great.”  
  
Jace considered, his brow furrowing. For a moment, the twist of his lips reminded her of Jonathan’s pout. “Fine. It was great. I could definitely live without the creepy sex bond between you and him, though.”  
  
Between them, Jonathan’s dark eyes fluttered open long enough for him to plant a clumsy, wet kiss on Jace’s lips, then flop back down onto the mattress.  Into Jace's shoulder, he mumbled, "I couldn't."

Clary laughed, delighted by the morbid humor, and Jace made a disgusted face, rubbing at the spot. “Is it bad that I know where his mouth has been, but I still don’t like it?”  
  
“Let's get under the covers,” Clary replied, in lieu of an answer. She leaned over Jonathan’s shoulder and pressed a soft, melting kiss of her own to Jace’s lips, reaching up to weave her fingers together with his. “I’m fucking freezing.”

**Author's Note:**

> In some types of partner dance, the lead is responsible for guiding the couple and, in improvised dances, for choosing the dance steps to perform. The lead communicates choices to the follow and directs the follow by means of subtle physical and visual signals, thereby allowing the couple to be smoothly coordinated.
> 
> (that's my way of saying Clary is a dom lmaoo)
> 
> Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed!! See y'all in hell, I guess.


End file.
